When my husband went to Tibet with his father for his (the father’s) 60th birthday, they each brought me back a priceless gift. My husband brought a jewelry set that is precious to me because it signifies the moment that we both knew we would get married.
My father-in-law brought back a Buddhist mala made of bones. At the time, I did not do much meditation, but had just recently converted a favorite rosary into something less-Catholic. When he gave it to me, he told me that a part of the Tibetan-Buddhist practice is meditation on the impermanence of everything, including life. The beads of the mala were polished, he said, because it was likely a used mala, one whose bone-beads had been smoothed by years of the daily practice of the poor farmer who sold it to him. The bones, he said, were probably yak, but human bones are also used, and are considered to be some of the most sacred.
For a long time, this was the only mala I used: it was the right length (my olive wood former rosary was not), and it had a history. These days I use it specifically when I want to meditate on death & impermanence.
Today is my birthday. I’m going to spend some of it with my sisters, having our monthly tea, and I hope to spend some of it in meditation about death. With my father’s illness (and his emotionless updates on it) and my continual growing-up/aging, I think it’s appropriate.
Perhaps on my way home, I’ll stop by one of my favorite places in LA: Forest Lawn. I used to have lunch at the one in Glendale, and it’s still one of my favorite picnic spots. Maybe after visiting it, I’ll stop by the one in Burbank and see how it is.
In German, the word for cemetery is “Friedenhof“, which literally means “Peace-Courtyard”. I’ve rarely been in a cemetery that does not bring me peace, and Forest Lawn, though perhaps the Wal-Mart of the funerary business, does it very well.
Which reminds me, DH & I should write wills.
My father-in-law’s objection to my killing mosquitos was a very gentle reminder that, if I was going to do it, could I please not do it in front of him, or if I must, I should offer a brief acknowledgement to the universe: a short meditation of “Life is short”. I do this, now, every time I kill mosquitos (although sometimes I don’t think of it until after I do). Each tiny life gets this acknowledgement from me.
John has a special place in his heart for death & rituals surrounding it, so when I ran across this, I thought of him. It’s a blog by a veterinary technician who euthanizes animals as part of her (? I think it’s a woman) job. She eulogizes each one. Sometimes briefly: “An aged dachshund with cancer”, sometimes she gives stories. Each one is beautiful and each one is an acknowledgement that the ending of a life is not something to be taken for granted. (Look for the pet chicken, her soul searching about that one is poignant.) [hat tip to BoingBoing for linking me to it. Read the comments, many of them are also worth it]
I think the hardest part of dealing with my father’s illness is the knowledge that it generally ends in suffocation or starvation when the muscles in the neck cease to be able to function. At that point, I know what my father’s wishes are and I know that all my sisters and my mother will agree with them. And I’m preparing myself for my need to be okay with it.
